Soluna

Emi zipped up her duffel bag, then pulled on her hoodie and tied her boots tight. She double-checked that her sketchbook was inside, along with all the things she once brought along on a camping trip – a flashlight, sunglasses, an extra jacket in case it got freezing cold, extra socks.

She didn’t really know how she was able to pack the bag so quickly, just getting lost in the zone, then the next thing she knew, she was ready to go, slinging the bag over her shoulder and looking over at Orion, who stood near the door, still as stone.

“You’re sure we’re just going to be off for a few days?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “People are going to freak out if I don’t show up to school.”

Orion nodded once.

“We’ll be back soon. You have my word.”

She gave him a skeptical look but followed him out the door anyway.

The early morning air was cool and crisp. They walked together to the empty field behind the house, dew clinging to the grass. The world was still asleep in the kind of stillness that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. Mist clung to the grass in the backyard, and the pale sky was just beginning to blush with early light.

In this quiet serenity, Orion stepped forward. Instantly, he unfurled his compact shield and mace. The dark metal shimmered faintly with a color that didn’t quite belong to this world, catching hints of crimson and violet in the dim sky.

He raised the shield and held it firm, then brought the mace down against its surface.

A deep, resonant hum filled the air with a low ancient echo, like that of a bell in a cathedral older than time. Emi could feel the sound vibrating through her bones, stirring something instinctual beneath that she could not explain.

He struck again, and the air around him began to shift. The space behind the shield rippled, like water disturbed by a stone, bending light into impossible angles.

On the third strike, the ground trembled beneath their feet. A seam appeared in the air, and from it – a faint, glowing crack, thin as a hairline fracture in glass. And then, slowly, the crack widened.

It peeled open like the petals of a celestial flower, revealing a window into another world. The light that poured through was not sunlight, not starlight, rather something much older, wilder, wiser.

A sky of living clouds, violet mountains in the far distance, the colors of a dream she’d never had but somehow recognized.

Orion turned to her at last, calm and steady.

“Ready?”

Nodding her head, she allowed herself to be taken by the cosmic dust.

As they stepped through the portal, Emi expected wind or heat or cold, some sensation to signal they'd left her world behind. But instead, there was only a brief moment of weightlessness, like falling upward through silence.

Then her boots touched solid ground again.

The portal sealed behind them with a whisper.

It was like a mini jump scare, letting her breath get caught in her throat. And once she turned around – it was as if she couldn’t even breathe.

They were standing atop a vast marble stairway, carved directly into the side of a mountain – but even calling it a ‘mountain’ felt wrong. The landscape before her sprawled like something torn out of a forgotten dream: the sky was a deep gradient of violet and copper, with stars somehow visible even during the day. Twin suns glowed behind drifting black clouds, one golden and one a pale, pale silver. Light and shadow didn’t follow natural logic – building up shapes that were lit from odd angles, and there were patches of twilight even at noon.

And then there was Soluna. The kingdom unfolded below them like a titanic map: tier upon tier of monolithic architecture spiraled downward into a massive, sunken valley. The buildings were impossibly tall, towering cathedrals with stained-glass windows that stretched stories high, and domes shaped like eyes, crescents, and spires that shimmered like they were made of obsidian and pearl. All kinds of architecture Emi had only ever read about in books or seen on the news, and even those paled in comparison to what she was seeing.

Everything had a duality – black and white, day and night, holy and monstrous.

It should’ve been terrifying.

But it was also beautiful.

Emi couldn’t speak in the face of this grandeur. She had expected some sort of villain’s lair, some kind of fortress of evil.

But this – this was a city. A civilization.

A sea of people walked the streets below – citizens, not soldiers. But they were strange. Some were more ordinary, but many were tall – absurdly so, with the shortest still standing over six feet, while the averages hovered around seven or eight.

Their proportions were elegant but not human. Some had cracked skin like old statues, veined with pulsing light. Others bore blackened marks across their pale faces or arms, shapes that almost looked like burn scars but moved faintly, as if alive. Their eyes were luminous, but not all in the same way. Some glowed a golden shimmer, others a deep blue, while several others void-like.

The darkness ‘infection,’ if that was what it was, didn’t seem to cripple them. They still wore proper robes, tied together by elegant white fabric of civilized men and women, somehow making their corruption harmonize with more orderly beauty, paradoxical as that may be, a proud display worn like a crown. These flowing garments were layered in strange geometries, robes that moved like liquid shadow, patterned with constellations or runes or scripture Emi couldn’t read.

The colors ranged from ink-dark blues and purples to soft, glowing silvers, sometimes even stitched with threads that shimmered like captured lightning. Some wore elaborate collars or shoulder pieces shaped like eclipses or crescent moons, while others were bare-armed, their blackened skin displayed proudly, like a mark of status.

Their fabrics had an otherworldly weight to them. Some floated just above the ground, refusing to touch the dust. Others shimmered and shifted color when caught by the odd twin-sunned light. Metal was common, but not crude, jewelry curled like vines around fingers and throats, and belts bore arcane symbols that pulsed gently, alive with enchantment.

These were thinkers, workers, artists, priests.

They looked corrupted, yes, but composed.

And then, looking beyond the crowds piling beneath them, she saw it.

A church the size of a mountain.

It rose from the center of the city like a god’s own crown, the tallest structure for miles. It was less a building and more a mountain forged from marble and nightglass, veined with molten starlight. Enormous wings – stone and silver – arched over its main gate. Every inch of its facade was covered in carvings: battles, births, prayers, and paradoxes. Towering statues lined its steps, each one representing beings that looked part-angel, part-beast.

Emi had no words to describe what she was seeing. Pinching herself to make sure she was not dreaming – but she was sure that she was wide awake.

She turned to Orion, still half in disbelief.

“This is your home?”

He nodded slowly, almost reverently.

“This is Soluna. My Kingdom.”

It didn’t take long for someone to see them. A tall figure in dark robes froze mid-step, eyes widening with sudden recognition.

Then came a cry in the native tongue – strange, deep, twirling like snakes. But Emi didn’t need to understand the words. She saw the way heads turned, how every glowing gaze locked onto the pair standing at the edge of the great stairs.

Their King had returned.

Within seconds, the streets stirred. Footsteps quickened. Voices rose in awe, and then in joy. They gathered in the dozens first, then soon the upper hundreds, moving like a tide that had been waiting for the moon. Some knelt as Orion passed, others placed their hands to their hearts or traced signs in the air as if warding off disbelief. Emi felt herself shrinking in their presence, not from hostility, but sheer reverence.

There was no ceremony. No announcement. The city itself seemed to shift in response to Orion’s presence.

“My King, my King!”

“Oh, it’s true, it’s true.”

“How we waited for this day, milord.”

“This calls for celebration,” one citizen declared, tall and veiled in silver thread, eyes glowing like dusk. Another echoed the sentiment. Then another.

And before Emi could make sense of it, the kingdom moved.

Banners unfurled from windows and towers. Great chimes rang out from spires hidden among the clouds. Market stalls reassembled before her eyes, wood snapping into place with uncanny speed, tables laden with fruits that shimmered like crystal and bread steaming with unnatural warmth. Musicians emerged seemingly from stone, tuning alien instruments that vibrated with eerie harmony. Dancers spun through the streets in garments of drifting smoke and glass beads, trailing light.

A festival fit for a king.

No.

A god.